


I think I saw you in the shadows

by thesaddestboner



Series: in the shadows [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Angst, Detroit Tigers, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He felt like he’d seen her before.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I think I saw you in the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [**unreckless**](http://unreckless.livejournal.com/)’s fault. HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, [**UNRECKLESS**](http://unreckless.livejournal.com/)! HOPE YOU THINK THIS DOESN’T SUCK! 
> 
> Thanks to [**unreckless**](http://unreckless.livejournal.com/), [**learnthemusic**](http://learnthemusic.livejournal.com/), [**outfieldgrass**](http://outfieldgrass.livejournal.com/), and [**jiltanith**](http://jiltanith.livejournal.com/) for betaing, putting up with my whining, handholding and, most importantly, coaching me through the porn. ;) Um, I think you can tell I gave up on the editing at some point. All remaining mistakes/suckiness/ambiguousness is my fault because I said "fuck it, I'm posting this." 
> 
> Also covers the **genderswap -** [](http://angst_bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**angst_bingo**](http://angst_bingo.livejournal.com/) square.
> 
> Title from “Black Hearted Love,” by P.J. Harvey and John Parish.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

She showed up on his doorstep on a crisp Tuesday afternoon, wearing an ill-fitting, incredibly ugly Christmas sweater and baggy sweatpants. Her hair was a mess, more scraggly than curly and all over the place, like it hadn’t been brushed in a while, and she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. There was something about her that made his heart beat a little faster, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He felt like he’d seen her before.

“Hi,” she said in a breathless rush, “my, uh, my car broke down. I’m from out of town, Jersey actually. Can I use your phone?”

“Uh,” he said, stepping back and opening the door a little wider, “sure. It’s in the kitchen.” He felt like he’d just gotten hit by a mini-tornado, head reeling.

The girl stepped over the threshold and wrapped her arms around herself. She paused and turned to glance over her shoulder. “I don’t remember how long I’ve been driving.”

“Roadtrip?” he asked.

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess you could say that.”

Max retrieved his cell phone from the kitchen and brought it out, offering it up to her. She took it gingerly. “I’ve got a taxi service on speed dial. I’m Max, by the way.”

She looked down at the phone. “Thanks. I’m-- ” She paused and glanced back up at him and pushed her hair out of her face. “My name’s Erica.”

Max smiled. “Erica, that’s a nice name.” He wanted to tell her that his ex’s name was Erica, but he didn’t get the impression this girl would care. She had that look about her. She seemed kind of-- aloof, closed off.

Erica gave him a weird look but said nothing. She made her phone call quickly and efficiently, flipped the cell phone into Max’s open hands and scratched at her elbow with chipped fingernails. “Thanks for letting me use your phone.” She looked at him again, the corner of her mouth twitching like she had something more to say. Max slipped the phone in his pocket and waited. Finally, she just shook her head and pursed her lips.

“Something wrong?” he asked, letting his imagination run away from him a little bit. He imagined a horror story about creepy ex-boyfriends or money-hungry landlords or maybe an evil step-mother on her trail. He reminded himself not to be ridiculous.

Erica tugged the sleeve of her Christmas sweater over her hand. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m all ears.” Max held his hands up, palms open, and smiled at her.

She shrugged. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Is somebody after you?” Max tried.

Erica frowned. “What do you mean? Like, am I on the run from the law or something?”

“No. I mean, maybe? I dunno,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “If there’s anything else I can do . . .”

“You sure you’re not just offering to help me for less than altruistic reasons?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Max blinked. He hadn’t expected her to whip out _altruistic_ on him. A good Scrabble word. “What do _you_ mean?”

“You guys are all the same,” she said, sounding-- if at all possible-- a mixture of nostalgic and disgusted. “Maybe you’re just being helpful to get into my pants.”

Max shook his head. “No, that’s not it, not at all.”

She sighed. “So, I guess you’re just a helpful guy then.”

“Yeah. I try.” Max cracked a smile.

Erica glanced out the window and twisted her mouth in a grimace. “Cab’s here.” She turned back to him and rubbed her fingers over the corner of her mouth. “You’re a nice guy, Max. Only nice guy I’ve met so far on this little odyssey of mine.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he said. “Sorry I can’t say the same for the rest of my species.”

Erica laughed. “You’re telling me.” She edged toward the open door. “I’ll probably be in town for a little while. Christmas roadie. We should get together sometime.”

Max perked up at that. He definitely wanted to see her again. “Sure. That sounds great. Where you headed, if you don’t mind?”

Erica let herself out. “Arizona. I think. Tucson, probably. I’ll call you.”

“Okay. See you around then,” Max said, then shook his head. How could she call him? She didn’t even have his number. “Wait, let me give you my-- ”

“I already have it.” She shut the door and sprinted down the steps to the waiting taxi.

-

A few days later, she showed up on his doorstep again. This time she was wearing a bright red Cardinals pullover and jeans, and her hair had somehow been tamed. Max was kind of surprised she actually came.

“Hey.” Max smiled and ushered her in. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”

“You thought I’d stand you up?” She slipped off the pullover and held it up, making a disapproving face. “I bought this at the mall. I’m kind of ashamed of myself.”

Max laughed and took it from her. “Nothing wrong with it. I’ll always be a Cards fan at heart.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged and let the thought trickle away. “You got any beer?”

Max raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You certainly know how to cut to the chase. I got Bud. Of course. And Corona.”

Erica made a face. “Corona? Don’t understand how anyone can drink that shit.”

“You’d be surprised,” Max said, thinking of Zumaya. “I know this guy. Drinks Corona like it’s going out of style.”

A brief look passed over Erica’s face. Max wasn’t sure what it was. Regret, maybe? “Me too,” she said. “So, Max. Beer me.”

The two of them went to the kitchen and Max got out Buds and found cocktail napkins his mom had stored away in the cupboard. It had to have been his mom’s doing. He never would’ve bought them on his own.

Erica leaned back against the counter and twisted the cap off her beer. Max found himself looking at her hands; she had calluses on her fingers; maybe she was a guitar player or something. Max kept finding himself growing more and more impressed with this girl, and it didn’t really matter to him that she shared a first name with his ex-girlfriend anymore.

“So,” Max said, lowering his bottle. “Driving all the way to Tucson, huh? Long ride.”

Erica nodded and choked down a gulp of beer. She rubbed the heel of her hand over her mouth. “Yeah. I got a friend out in Tucson. Well, not _really_ in Tucson. He lives about a half hour away, in Marana.”

Max brightened at the mention of Arizona. “I played baseball out in Arizona. Lived in Phoenix half the year. Nice place, if a bit hot. Never could get used to the weather.”

Erica nodded again and stared into her beer bottle. “Yeah. My friend, he says he’s gotta be part lizard or something to enjoy it as much as he does. But then again, he’s weird.”

Max laughed. This guy sounded pretty much like every one of his teammates. “Well, I’m glad you made a detour to Missouri.”

Erica glanced at him and tightened her hand around her bottle. She offered him a flighty, nervous little smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

Max wasn’t quite sure he believed her, though. There was something about her, something he couldn’t quite get off his mind. “What d’you do? For a living and stuff.”

“I travel a lot,” she said quietly, setting her bottle down. She rested her hands on the kitchen counter; her fingernails were bitten down to the quick, cuticles raw like she’d been chewing on them relentlessly. “Always hopping from one city to the next.”

“Me too,” Max said, nodding slowly in understanding. “It’s so hard to put down roots somewhere. When you’re always on the road.”

Erica picked at one of her cuticles. She had a big, thick callus on her thumb. “Sometimes I feel-- ” She stopped herself short and chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you. Don’t know why I suddenly want to tell you everything.”

Max tried to charm her, even though he had a sneaking suspicion she was one girl he couldn’t charm. “I dunno about you, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

She looked down at her hands again. “I’m still not gonna let you fuck me.”

Max hadn’t expected that. “I’m not trying to let you let me fuck you,” he said, hurting his own brain with the grammatical gymnastics.

She sighed heavily and wiped her hands over her face. “I know. I’m sorry. This trip’s taken more out of me than I originally thought.”

He reached out tentatively and touched her shoulder. “Hey. I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Erica flinched away from his hand and he dropped his arm. “It’s okay. Like I said before, it’s a long story.” She looked at him and pulled her mouth into a half-smile, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

Max puzzled over that. “Someday?”

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” She pushed away from the counter and picked up her half-empty bottle. “I gotta go. Someplace to be.”

“Are you gonna come back?” Max asked. He hated how desperate he sounded right then. He wanted to see her again and he had this feeling tumbling in his stomach like if he didn’t get a promise out of her he might never see her again. It was as if she was Cinderella or something, and her stagecoach was about to turn into a pumpkin.

Erica pushed her wavy hair away from her face and he noticed a tiny constellation of moles over her left eyebrow. “I’ll come back,” she said, lowering her hands. She pulled her bangs down until they covered her forehead. “Goodbye, Max.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, standing, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine. I can handle myself,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Okay then. ’Bye.” He watched her leave.

She didn’t move like most of the other women he knew, hips swaying and arms swinging. She walked almost like a ballplayer.

Max shook his head and drained the rest of his beer.

-

A few days later, Max went to the address Erica had texted to him. She was staying at some rundown motel and this was definitely not the right kind of place for a young woman to be staying at on her own. Even the Coke machine in front of the building looked shady. Probably stole all your quarters or something.

Max paused in front of the door that bore the number Erica had given him and knocked a couple of times. He could hear muffled noises beyond the closed door.

“Just give me a sec,” she yelled. This was accentuated by three loud thumps, and then the door swung open.

She was wearing a large, baggy gray t-shirt and plaid boxers. He tried not to notice how long her bare legs were or how those boxers barely came down to her thigh. She tucked her hair behind her ears and laughed.

“I wasn’t expecting you this early,” she said. “C’mon in. I’m just getting dressed.”

Max followed her into the motel room and shut the door behind them. It was a little more hospitable on the inside than it was on the outside. The room was done in warm, rosy colors and a painting of ducklings crossing a country road was hanging over an open minibar.

“What’d you wanna do today,” Max asked, sitting in a chair by the door.

“I dunno. What’s there to do in Missouri in the middle of winter?” She picked at a plastic shopping bag and pulled out a bulky, navy men’s sweater. She held it up under her chin and examined it.

“We could check out Christmastown at Busch Gardens,” he suggested.

She put the sweater aside and started sifting through the contents of the bag. “Christmastown? That sounds fucking lame. No offense.”

Max laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty lame.”

Erica picked up a pair of jeans and the sweater. “I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much.” She went to the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Max sat back and took in his surroundings. Clothes were strewn all about, like a hurricane had hit her motel room or something. Most of the stuff still had their tags. A stack of paperbacks cluttered up the nightstand and he squinted to make out the titles; _Conversational Spanish in Twelve Easy Lessons_ , _The Baseball Code_ and the latest _Bill James Handbook_. So, she was a fan.

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, smoothing her hands through her hair. The sweater was way too large for her and made her look almost tiny, even though Max was sure she had to be at _least_ five-nine, five-ten. The jeans were big too, dragging on the carpet when she walked over to the bed.

“Ready?” Max asked.

She looked at him and gave a slight nod. “Yeah. Let’s blow this popsicle joint.”

Max laughed, because he hadn’t heard anyone say that since-- well, forever. She was definitely strange, but he was pretty sure he liked her. She still hadn’t said anything about his eyes, which were usually the first thing people noticed about him (especially girls). Maybe she didn’t find the fact they were different colors all that interesting.

He almost wanted to say that she reminded him of one of the guys, but he wasn’t sure what that said about either of them.

-

She came back couple days later and he made them both dinner. He hadn’t made any girl dinner since ex-girlfriend-Erica, and maybe he should have felt weird about it, but he didn’t. Not really. He felt good around this Erica.

She spent most of the time watching him while he sauteed vegetables in a pan on the stove and checked on the chicken he was baking in the oven.

“You’re not half bad at that whole cooking thing,” she said.

Max glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I’m honestly surprised I haven’t burnt this place down yet. I haven’t cooked in nearly a year.”

“You really eat out every night?” she asked, looking comically surprised.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I play ball. We get meals provided to us, or we eat at hotels or restaurants. Don’t really have to cook so I don’t bother, usually,” he said, tugging his oven mitt off his hand.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. You mentioned that baseball thing before.”

“Are you a fan?” he asked, poking at the vegetables. “I noticed some books on your nightstand, when I picked you up.”

She shrugged awkwardly. “It’s boring. Can’t imagine why anyone would watch that shit,” she said, sounding just a little bitter. She picked up her beer bottle and tipped her head back, draining the rest. “It’s like watching a root canal or something.”

“Boring to watch but it makes for great bedside reading material?” Max teased.

Erica turned and set her empty bottle next to the sink basin. She glanced at him. “Yeah, I guess so. Watching games just doesn’t interest me.”

“Remind me never to invite you to one of my games then,” Max said, smiling at her. She didn’t smile back though, and he stepped away from the stove. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but he didn’t quite believe her. She sounded distant, hollow. “Really. I’m just not a fan. I never was into sports, so.”

Max turned his attention back to the simmering vegetables and poked at them with his spatula. “We’ll have to change that, then.”

“Good luck, pal.” Erica laughed behind him.

Once dinner was done, Max scooped healthy servings onto two plates and brought them into the dining room he never used. Erica trailed after him, working on a second beer.

Max set the plates down and turned back to her, waving his arm over the dining room table. “Dinner is served.” He beamed at her and pulled her chair out, all chivalrously. She didn’t seem like the type who appreciated chivalry, but she only smiled and sat down.

“Thanks.” She picked up her napkin and tucked it into the collar of her oversized sweater.

Max smiled and cut into his chicken. “How long are you planning on staying?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pushing her vegetables around on her plate.

“Think you might? Stick around, I mean.”

She looked up at him and furrowed her brow. “Like, forever?”

“Oh, I mean, just until Christmas? Or . . .” He trailed off awkwardly and shoveled some food into his mouth to keep it occupied.

“I wasn’t even planning on staying this long,” she admitted, poking at her chicken with her knife.

Max washed the chicken down with a swig of beer and avoided looking at her. He was being ridiculous. He’d only known her for a week? Week and a half? And he was pretty sure she wasn’t into him like that at all. “If you leave am I gonna see you again?”

She looked down and tugged at the tablecloth. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again at some point.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Max said, laughing a little.

“I know.” She propped her elbow on the table and tucked her fist under her chin. “You’re a nice guy.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But nothing,” she said, shrugging. “Apparently you’re a nice guy who can’t take compliments.”

Max laughed and ducked his head. “Seems like it.”

Erica stood and pushed her seat in, coming over to his side. She put a hand on his pitching shoulder. “Hey. I want you to show me what you do.”

Max looked up at her, confused. “Huh?”

Erica smiled down at him, wavy hair hanging in front of her eyes. She reached up and pinned it back with a hand. “I want you to show me how to throw a baseball.”

Max gaped at her, happily. “Weren’t you the one who said baseball was boring?”

“Yeah,” she said, corner of her mouth ticking up in a half-smile. “I still think it’s boring. And I still want you to show me.”

-

Max punched a pristine white baseball into his beat up leather mitt and glanced over at Erica. She had taken the large sweater off and she’d pulled her hair back in a knot.

“We can start with the fastball,” he said, holding the ball out to her. “It’s simple. Uncomplicated. Then we can move onto the offspeed stuff.” He grinned lopsidedly at her and she took the ball from him. Max stepped back and watched as Erica turned the ball in her hand before fitting her fingers along the seams. “Going with the sinker, huh?”

Erica looked down at the ball in her hand. “Sinker?” She sounded distracted, like half of her was somewhere else.

“Yeah,” Max said, taking her wrist gently in his fingers. He smiled a little. “I don’t actually throw one.”

Erica laughed quietly and let Max hold onto her wrist. “Then how are you gonna show _me_ how to throw one?”

He moved her thumb under the lower seam. “Well, I know how you’re _supposed_ to throw it. Theory, practice. Two totally different things.”

Max grinned at her and a thin, Mona Lisa smile crossed her lips briefly.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” Erica toed the dirt and patted the ball into her palm.

Max took his glove and trotted a little ways away before dropping into a crouch. “Lay it on me.”

She dropped her arms and huffed. “You’re too close. Move back.”

“How can you even tell?” Max asked, popping back up and looking behind him.

“I just can. I don’t need you to treat me like a kid.” Erica waved him back and drew the ball down to her waist, like a real pitcher would.

She pivoted and brought the ball out of her glove hand, and there was something so fluid and _familiar_ to her movements that Max couldn’t breathe for a second, like he was struck by a bolt of lightning. Then the ball was flying out of her hand toward him and he wasn’t prepared for it. It caught him on his unprotected hand and he fell over, arms and legs flailing, unable to stay on his feet. The ball skipped away harmlessly in the dirt.

“Oh, shit. Are you all right, man? Shit, shit, shit.” Erica ran over to him and dropped to a knee beside him. “Where’d it get you?”

“Hand. But it’s fine, really.” He sat up and flexed his fingers to show her everything was okay. “I just wasn’t ready for it. My own fault.”

Erica touched his wrist gingerly with her fingertip. “You’ve already got a welt. Hopefully it’s nothing but a bruise.”

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted, brushing dirt and bits of dead leaves off the front of his sweatshirt. He nodded toward the wayward baseball. “You got a damn good sinker.”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “For a girl, right?”

“Nah, for anybody,” Max said, studying her jawline. She had more moles that he hadn’t noticed before, and he traced them with his eyes, connecting the dots.

She turned her head slightly and a curl of hair fell in front of her face. “Thanks. I guess.”

He reached out and tucked the tendril of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing against her cheek. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

Erica turned toward him, eyes big and round like saucers, and his stomach sank like a stone. “Max.” Her voice shook slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, feeling inexplicably guilty, like he’d crossed some line he shouldn’t have even toed.

She lowered her head and laughed, scrubbing a hand through her hair. “It’s not your fault. It’s-- it’s just weird.”

“Oh, jeez, thanks,” he said, trying to make a joke of it. He pressed his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded. Really.”

Erica snorted and reached out, pressing her fingers against his sore wrist. He tried to hold back a hiss of pain, manfully, and failed. “Should get some ice on this,” she said. “Maybe wrap it up.” She pushed herself to her feet and held out her hands to him. Max wrapped his fingers around hers and she tugged him up.

Now that he was so close to her, he could see that was much taller than he’d originally thought. She had to have been at least six feet. And with a sinker like that? He could definitely see Erica holding her own against professional ballplayers. He was smitten.

“Thanks.” Max let go of her hands and stepped back, tucking them in his pockets.

“You’re welcome.” She turned and headed back toward the house, stopping to pick up her discarded sweater and sling it over her right shoulder.

Max trailed after, a cool, funny feeling swooping through his stomach at that. He couldn’t put his finger on why it stood out to him, though. It felt familiar, like the way she threw that sinker had felt familiar to him.

When he got back inside, Erica was already at the sink, filling a Ziploc bag with ice cubes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, lingering in the doorway.

She looked up and shrugged. “It was kind of my fault you got hurt, so.”

Max shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “More my fault for not being prepared.”

She finished filling the Ziploc bag and closed it, beckoning to him to join her by the sink. When he did, she took him by the arm and pressed the bag of ice gently against his wrist. “Just hold that there. Should take some of the swelling down.”

Max looked at her again, catching her eye, and smiled. “You never-- ” He paused, losing his nerve just a little bit.

“I never what?” she prompted.

He leaned back a little against the counter. “You never said anything about my eyes.”

Erica cocked her head, hair spilling over her shoulder. “Oh. Didn’t even notice. I guess I’m just used to them. I know somebody who has-- whatever it is you have.”

Max held the bag of ice against his wrist. “Heterochromia,” he suggested helpfully.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You just get used to it if you’ve been around somebody long enough, I guess.”

Max lifted the Ziploc bag and checked his wrist. The swelling had already started to go down, leaving behind nothing more than a red, vaguely baseball-sized blotch. He dropped the bag in the sink and flexed his wrist a little bit; it was a little sore, but nothing he couldn’t work with. It wouldn’t have forced him out of a game.

“Already better,” he said, going over to the fridge and rooting around. “You want something to drink?”

“I should probably be getting back,” she said. There was something in her tone, though, that told him she didn’t really want to.

He grabbed a beer for himself and turned to her. “You could stay here. If you wanted.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe I will,” she said, sounding as if she were working through it with herself.

“I’ve got a spare room,” he said, passing the beer off to Erica and grabbing another for himself.

“I don’t know how long I could stay,” she said, opening the beer. “People’ll start to miss me after a while.”

“Can’t you call them? Tell them you’re out of town?” he asked.

She sipped modestly at her beer. “Don’t think that would work,” she said.

“Are you still gonna go to Tucson?”

Erica swirled a mouthful of beer around in her mouth before swallowing. “I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.”

“Do any of us?” Max laughed.

“Point.” Erica set her bottle on the counter and leaned back against it. She looked at him and he could see the makings of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Max took a pull of his beer. “What?”

“Nothing. You just look a lot like somebody I know,” she said.

“Good thing, I hope?” Max said.

Erica pushed away from the counter and stepped in front of him. She slipped the bottle out of his hand and put it next to hers. “It is.”

Max held his breath and his stomach lurched. He wanted to touch her but he wasn’t sure what he was allowed, what she would let him do. So he kept his hands at his sides, fingers of his right hand twitching slightly against his thigh.

“What are you-- ”

“Here. Give me your hands.” She tugged his hands into hers and pulled him away from the counter. “Do you know how to dance?”

“Uh, not very well,” he admitted, laughing.

“Neither do I.” She grinned at him, and he was pretty sure it was the first full-blown smile he’d seen from her since she’d first shown up on his doorstep.

Erica put his hands on her shoulders and she slipped her own over his hips. Max started to laugh and she raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, still laughing. “I guess you’re going to lead then?”

“I always lead.” She kicked his feet apart. “You suck at this whole dancing thing.”

“I guess you’ll show me then.”

Erica counted out the steps under her breath and he followed along, eyes on her feet, matching up his steps to hers. He kept his hands on her shoulders and she kept her hands on his waist, guiding him where he was supposed to go.

He felt weirdly disoriented, following her lead. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms and twirl her around, like he’d seen in the movies. The other part of him was still kind of intimidated by her, for reasons he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the strange feeling he hadn’t been able to shake since he met her, that he _knew_ her somehow.

They finally came to a stop by the fridge and he leaned back against it, shoulders thumping firmly. Erica looked at him, chewing at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“What is it?” he asked.

She hesitated briefly before grazing his cheek with her fingertips. He inclined his head toward her and she slipped her hand to the back of his neck. He felt her fingers stroke in his hair and down the back of his neck, and he moved a hand from her shoulder to her waist to draw her closer.

Her lips were cool and smooth against his, and she tasted like beer and something sweet, bubblegum maybe. He parted his lips and deepened the kiss, and she tightened her hand on his neck. Her other hand wandered down his side and came to rest at his waist.

She pushed him back into the fridge with a strength he hadn’t expected, although he felt like he shouldn’t have been surprised. He had a feeling that nothing about her should have surprised him.

Erica slid her mouth back over his and kissed him urgently, one hand snaking under the back of his shirt. He pressed forward as much as she would allow and cupped her face in his hands. She squeezed a leg between his and pushed him back against the fridge, and he couldn’t help but groan into her mouth, feeling kind of silly and not really caring.

Finally, they broke apart and Erica brushed her fingertips across her swollen lips. Her eyes were dark and her hair messy. He wanted to tangle his fingers in it and keep on kissing her.

“Probably shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, lowering her hand from her mouth.

Max took a deep breath. “Do you want to?”

She gave him a slight, barely perceptible nod. “Yeah.”

“So do I. I guess I don’t see what the problem is,” he laughed, slipping his hand over her waist.

Erica looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing. “I want to tell you, honest. It’s just, you’d never believe me. _No_ one would.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Try me.”

She felt silent and drew her mouth into a thin line. Max let his hand fall away and he held himself still, waiting; what for, he didn’t know.

Erica slid her hand to the back of his neck and stroked her fingers in his hair. “This is both the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, pressing his forehead against hers.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “A couple weeks ago, I woke up as somebody else.”

Max closed his eyes too and just listened, rubbing his fingertips in circles on her shoulder blades. He could feel her hand on his neck, fingers still stroking in his hair.

“It was like I slipped into the _Twilight Zone_ or something,” she said, laughing sharply. “My entire life was gone. Just like that. I kind of freaked out.”

Max tucked his cheek against her neck. “Yeah?” He still didn’t quite understand what she was telling him, but he wasn’t sure if he should push for more.

“I guess this whole thing’s been one long freakout,” she said, pulling away from him to look him in the eye. She wrapped her hands loosely around his. “It’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing her hands gently.

She laughed at him and tugged on his hands. “That’s not really the kind of promise you should be making.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” he said, feeling helpless.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s fine.” Erica slipped her hands out of his to grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him close. She held onto his chin and kissed him briefly. “I want to finish what we started.”

“Are you sure-- ” he started, but she cut him off.

“Yeah,” she said, stroking her fingers down the side of his neck, “I’m sure.”

Erica slipped her hand around Max’s and he led her up the stairs, to his bedroom. She nudged the door shut behind them and leaned back against it, keeping her eyes on Max. He touched her cheek briefly and stroked his fingertips slowly along her jawline and down her neck to her shoulder, dragged his thumb across the slope of her collarbone. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against her forehead, and she burrowed her hands under his shirt, pushing it up his back. Max ducked his head and kissed her on the throat, and she tilted her head back, laughing a little.

She scritched her fingers in his hair. “Bed.”

Max laughed against her neck and raised his head to grin at her. “Someone’s impatient.”

“A little bit.” She tapped him on the chest with her index finger. “You could also stand to lose your clothes, too.”

“Consider it done.” Max yanked his t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion and dropped it on the floor. He nodded to her, smirking a little. “Now you.”

Erica moved over to the bed and sat down, shrugging her way out of her large gray t-shirt. He sat next to her and took in the sight of her disheveled brown hair and her ill-fitting white bra. She slipped the straps down her shoulders and unclasped the hook in the front, letting it drop to the floor.

Max helped her out of her jeans and then she did the same for him. She ran a hand slowly down his chest and pushed the waist of his boxers down his hips. He sucked back a breath and bit hard on the inside of his cheek, and Erica laughed fondly at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. She kissed him quick and hard on the mouth.

“What,” he murmured against her lips.

“Nothing.” Erica pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist. She looked down at him, mouth twitching into a smile, and kissed him on the cheek spontaneously. Max grinned and stroked his thumb over her cheek.

She crawled over him and tucked herself against his side, skating a hand down his chest into his boxers and wrapping her fingers around his cock. He squeezed onto her arm and closed his eyes briefly, before forcing them open to look at her.

“Erica-- ”

“Shut up, Max. I got this.”

She started to stroke him in slow, lazy movements and leaned down to press a kiss to his chest. Her hair brushed against his cheek and he took a deep breath; it smelled faintly of some sort of perfume or cologne. A fleeting thought tugged at the back of his mind, but it was gone in a flash.

Erica shifted beside him and kissed down his chest, hair spilling across his warm skin. He touched her forehead and brushed a few stray tendrils of hair away. He ran his thumb lightly over the two moles between her eyebrows, and she raised her head to look at him. His face grew warm, though not with embarrassment, and he smiled at her.

Erica licked teasingly at the head of his cock and Max curled his fingers reflexively in the bedsheets. She laughed at him and did it again, swirling her tongue, stroking him with a deliberately delicate touch. Erica lowered her head and licked up the shaft and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth noisily.

Max breathed out hard through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Erica.” It was all he could manage to say. His mind was a jumble of mixed up words, fragments that wanted to be sentences but just couldn’t quite make it from his brain to his mouth. He was usually so good with words. Then again, he’d never tried to come up with them while getting a blowjob from a beautiful girl before.

She took him a little deeper, and, _oh, god_. Erica was doing something with her tongue now, and then she swallowed around him, stroking what she couldn’t get into her mouth. He reached out blindly for her and found her other hand with his. He wrapped his fingers tightly around hers.

Erica swallowed again and he tried his best to hold onto his last shreds of restraint. She seemed to sense that he was holding back and she pulled away-- he let out a soft, reluctant sigh-- to wipe her thumb across her bottom lip.

“You don’t have to worry about being careful with me,” she said with a slight cough, her voice rough and raspy.

Max closed his eyes at that. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me. I’m invincible.” She laughed, her hand still big and warm around his cock.

He forced his eyes open and looked at her. “C’mere.”

“I thought you wanted-- ”

“I do, just c’mere.”

Max wagged his fingers at her and she crawled over to him. He pushed her back on the bed and pinned her wrists above her head with his hands.

She raised a single eyebrow, and he could see the hint of a smile twitching on her lips. “Yes?”

“It’s my turn, okay?” He kissed down her neck and back up, pausing to press his nose behind her ear. Max finally let go of her wrists and she dropped her hands to his shoulders.

“Should I be worried?” she asked, tipping her head up, smiling slightly.

“Maybe.” He trailed his fingers gently down her abdomen.

“Are you going to . . .” Erica trailed off, flicking her dark eyes on him.

He stilled his hand on her stomach. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head and touched the back of his hand briefly. “No.”

Max kissed her again and slid his hand between her legs. He felt her fingers close around his forearm but she didn’t move to pull his hand away, and he stroked a finger into her pussy. Erica tipped her head back against the pillows and let her hand fall away from his arm.

He found her clit with his thumb and started rubbing in slow, circular motions. She shifted her hips against his hand, and he pressed his other hand over her waist to hold her in place.

Erica let out a soft sigh. “Unfair.”

“Life isn’t fair.” He grinned at her and she flipped him off lazily. Max just laughed and moved his hand away from her waist, and she pushed back against him impatiently.

He got the hint.

Max leaned over her and licked up the side of her neck, pausing briefly to worry at her earlobe with his teeth. Erica writhed underneath him, clamping a hand over his pitching shoulder. He twisted his fingers in her and she bucked her hips up sharply, her short fingernails digging into his shoulder blade.

“Oh God, Max,” she gasped, jerking against his hand. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink and her forehead was damp with a thin sheen of sweat.

Max started rubbing his thumb against her clit again and felt her bent leg tense against his arm, toes curling in the bedsheets. “You want me to fuck you?” She nodded slightly, her lip caught between her teeth. “I want you to tell me. Want to hear you say it.” He felt his own cheeks flush with warmth as the words fell out of his mouth.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes and focused on him. “I want you to fuck me, Max.”

He reluctantly slipped his hand away and leaned over her to dig through the top drawer in his nightstand. All he came up with were some pens and a busted remote control missing its back panel. He tossed them back into the drawer and glanced down at her, offering her an apologetic smile.

“I’ll be right back.” He pressed his mouth against her temple.

“What? Why,” she asked, sounding hazy, halfway across the world.

“Condoms,” he said.

She made a funny face and wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Right.”

Max chuckled and slipped out of the bed. His feet sank deeply into the soft carpet and he wiggled his toes in it. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

They both laughed and he went to the bathroom and tore through the medicine cabinet until he found what he was looking for. Max grabbed the condoms and leaped onto the bed next to Erica and she laughed at him-- that seemed to be happening a lot so far, but he didn’t mind, not at all.

Max ripped open the crinkly plastic wrapper and pulled the condom out. Erica put her hand over his and pushed it away, saying, “Let me.” She slid the condom on for him and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles and imperfections.

Once she was finished, she lay back against the pillows and Max braced himself over her, on his elbows. He swept a hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. After a few brief seconds’ hesitation, he slipped his hand around her hip, pulled her to him and, with his other hand, guided his cock into her. He felt Erica’s hand on his pitching elbow, rubbing reassuringly. Max pushed his hips forward slowly, bracing both hands on either side of her waist. He let his mind wander a little bit to clichéd thoughts-- hot, wet, tight, good-- before he reeled it back in and got down to business.

Max could sense the frustration, the tension in her body as he fucked her, and normally it would have spurred him on to pound her hard into the mattress until they were both weak with exhaustion. Erica sighed and writhed under him, encouraging him to go faster, harder, but he restrained himself, keeping up his slow pace.

Finally, after he felt like either he might explode or she might kill him if he didn’t start fucking her in earnest, he let go of his restraint. He could feel Erica’s body relax under his as he began to fuck her in hard, fast strokes, her short, sharp fingernails digging into the skin on his back and stinging pleasantly.

They were both so wound up that it didn’t take either of them very long before they were spent, lying shoulder to shoulder in bed, breathing hard. Max rolled onto his stomach and watched Erica quietly; her eyes were closed lightly and her chest was flushed. Her hair clung to her forehead and he brushed it away. Max ran the backs of his fingers down, over her bare shoulder, and she shivered next to him, smiling.

He smiled too.

After he got rid of the condom, Max crawled back into bed next to her and dropped his head onto her shoulder. He felt Erica slip her hand into his and he closed his fingers around hers before drifting off.

-

When he woke the next morning, the curtains were pulled back from the balcony window and the sun was streaming into the bedroom in streaks of pale yellow light. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and patted the spot next to him for Erica, but it was empty. Once his eyes had fully adjusted, he saw the sheets on the floor in a tangle.

Max sighed and got up, stooping to gather the sheets and toss them back on the bed. He found his boxers neatly folded and placed on the cedar chest at the end of his bed-- that Erica had teased him mercilessly about, saying that he was ‘secretly an eighty year old woman’-- and he pulled them on, before padding down the hall for the kitchen.

Erica was standing in front of the coffee pot, hands on her hips. She was wearing a large, baggy t-shirt that was probably Max’s and a pair of plaid boxers he thought might be his too. He stepped up behind her, slipping an arm around her shoulders, and she spun around, catching him in the chest with a fist.

“Whoa,” Max laughed, stepping back, holding his hands up in surrender. “G’morning.”

Erica shook her head and rubbed a hand through damp hair. “Sorry. You surprised me.” She glanced at him and smirked, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Didn’t get you too hard, did I?”

“Nah, I’ll be good. Nothing I need to go on the D.L. for,” he said, snagging her wrist in his hand. He pulled her close and slipped an arm around her. “Did you use my shampoo?”

“Yeah, I did. Hope you don’t mind,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Erica glanced back at the coffee pot.

Max reached up and turned her face back toward him. “Watched coffee pots never boil. Or whatever.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “You’re on top of your game this morning.”

“I had a good night.” Max looped his arms around her waist and pressed his face into her hair. He felt her hands on his back, rubbing.

“I guess that explains the mood then,” she said into his shoulder, still rubbing.

Max pulled back and she slipped her hands away, tucking them into the pockets of the plaid boxers. He peered around her to check on the coffee. “I think your coffee’s ready.”

Erica turned and opened a few cupboards before coming up with coffee mugs. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to make your own pot.” She poured herself a mug of coffee and handed off the empty one to Max.

“Looks fine to me.” He poured himself a cup too and put the pot back in the coffee maker. He leaned back against the counter and cupped the mug in his hands.

“Anyways,” Erica said, coughing slightly, staring down at her coffee. “I was thinking maybe I should, you know, be going.”

“So soon?” Max smiled at her and she looked down. He could almost feel the smile slide off his face at her downcast gaze.

“Arizona,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. I remember you said something about that earlier.” Max glanced at his mug and wished he had a spoon to stir it with.

“I wish I could stay, but I can’t.” Erica put her mug on the counter and reached out, slipping her hands over Max’s around his coffee. “It’s just . . .” She trailed off.

Max offered her a reassuring smile he wasn’t quite feeling. “You don’t have to explain.”

Erica shook her head and took his coffee mug out of his hands, placing it next to hers. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her, confused.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, arms slipping around his waist.

“What for?” He reached up and stroked a tentative hand in her hair.

“I wish I could stay.” She evaded his question skillfully; Max was grudgingly impressed. “I like you. I always have.”

Max shook his head a little and laughed. “I like you too.”

Erica sighed and stepped back, rubbing her hands over her face wearily. “You don’t get it. If you told me to stay, I would,” she said.

“And that’s a bad thing?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

Max tilted her chin up gently with his fingertips. “I want you to stay.”

Erica’s face grew serious, mouth pursed. “I knew you were going to do that,” she muttered.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “You wanted me to,” he said softly, sliding his hand down to her hip.

Erica wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, crushing her mouth hard against his. Her fingers dug into his neck and he squeezed hard enough on her hip to leave a bruise.

“This is gonna be so bad. I’m sorry, Max,” she said when they finally separated.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Everything that hasn’t happened yet,” she said.

“Oh, so you’re apologizing preemptively?” He hooked his thumb in the waistband of the boxers she had on.

“Yeah,” Erica said, kissing him again, “just so you know.”

-

Max was in the bathroom, scraping a disposable razor across three days’ worth of stubble when the door snicked open softly and Erica appeared behind his shoulder in the mirror.

“Hey,” she said, touching him on his shoulder blade. “I wanna do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, dropping the plastic razor in the sink.

“Shave,” she said, picking it up.

“I really need to get rid of this thing,” Max said, laughing, gesturing to his face. “It’s been driving me crazy.”

“I didn’t mean me, genius,” Erica said, twirling it between her fingers, “I meant you.”

Max watched her in the mirror, twirling the blue plastic razor in her hand, and smiled. “If you want to, I guess,” he said.

“You won’t have to worry about me cutting you or anything. I’m good at it,” Erica said, touching his rough, unshaven cheek. She turned the faucet on, plugged the sink, and let the water run warm. “C’mere.”

He did as she said and Erica hooked her finger in his belt loop, tugging him close. “You done this before?” he asked, grinning, grabbing her around the waist.

“What do you think?” Erica leaned in closer and smeared a stripe of shaving cream across his upper lip.

She squeezed Max’s chin in her fingers and dragged the razor slowly down his cheek. He kept his hand on her waist, and let his eyes drift shut. He found the rhythmic strokes of the razor against his skin oddly soothing. Erica shook the razor off in the sink, turned his cheek, and began to finish up the job.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said, sneaking his hand under the back of her t-shirt.

“I’m good at a lot of things.” Erica set the razor down, unplugged the sink, and picked up a washcloth. She got it wet before throwing it over Max’s face and he started spluttering. Erica just laughed at him, patting him on the chest.

Max pulled the washcloth away from his face and dropped it on the counter. He turned his head and scratched his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “How’s it look?”

“You look fine.” Erica ran the back of her hand down his bare cheek and Max reached up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. He brought her hand to his lips and he kissed her knuckles. Erica watched him, a curious expression on her face.

“Hm?” He rubbed his thumb over one of the lines on her palm.

“Nothing,” she said, letting him hold onto her hand.

Max pressed his mouth against the large callus on her thumb. He murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” into her hand.

“For what?” she asked, finally pulling her hand free of his to stroke her fingers in his hair.

“I don’t know,” he said, laughing a little. He slipped his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. He felt Erica put her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m glad you found me.”

Erica said nothing, just sighed.

-

Max was in the kitchen sorting through mail when his cell phone began to buzz and vibrate on the kitchen counter. He picked it up and scanned the caller I.D.-- Phil Coke?-- and flipped the phone open.

“Hey, Cokey, what’s up?” Max answered, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hey! Nothin’ much, brother. Nothin’ much. What’s up, yourself?” Coke asked, overly cheery for way too early in the morning. “How you enjoying your offseason?”

“My offseason’s been pretty good. Just spending time with family and friends. You?”

“The same, honestly. Gone hunting a little with my dad, but it’s not real great weather for that. Kinda warm,” Coke said, trailing off and covering it up poorly with a cough. He obviously had something else on his mind, Max could tell. “So, you heard at all from Ricky this winter?”

“Porcello? Nah, haven’t heard from him at all. Why?” Max asked.

“Oh, huh,” Coke said slowly. “That’s funny. ’Cause _nobody’s_ heard from him, man.”

“What do you mean _nobody_ , Phil?” Max leaned his hip against the counter.

“Guy’s, like, totally off the grid,” Coke said. He sounded a little too perky and excited about this, like he thought it was a mystery they could solve, like it was an episode of _Without a Trace_ or _Criminal Minds_.

Max made a slight face. “Off the grid?”

“He just-- just up and _vanished_ , man,” Coke said. “Perry said his mom’s already called half the guys. He left a note.”

“A note?” Max glanced down at the stack of bills on his kitchen table.

“Yeah, Perry said his mom said there was a note. He went on a trip to Mexico or something, but she hasn’t heard from him since,” Coke said. “He’s been gone for, like, a couple weeks already.”

Max’s stomach sank like a stone at that. “A couple weeks?”

“Yup, that’s what Perry said.”

Max went back to the bedroom and sat heavily on his cedar chest. “Shit, Phil. Do they-- what do they think happened?”

“Nobody really has a clue, man,” Coke said, “and nobody really wants to think about it, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. If you hear anything, call me. Anytime, okay?” Max said.

“ ’Course, man,” Coke said. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s a grown man, you know? It has to be nothing.” He sounded to Max like he was fishing for reassurance, and Max wanted to give it to him, but he had no idea what to even say.

“I’m sure it is. Nothing, I mean,” Max said. The glass door that led to the backyard slid open and Erica slipped in, shutting it behind her. She had dirt on one of her palms.

“Yeah,” Coke said. “I’ll see you ’round, man.”

“See ya.” Max flipped the cell phone closed and dropped it on the kitchen table. “Hey,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face and offering Erica a tired smile. He nodded to her dirty hand. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, wiping her hand on her jeans. “I was just throwing that baseball around. I might’ve dented your bumper _just_ a little bit.” She looked at Max and she must have seen something on his face or in his eyes, because she frowned. “ _You_ all right?”

Max glanced back down at the stack of mail. “I dunno. I got a weird phone call from one of my teammates,” he said. “One of our other teammates has kind of been M.I.A., I guess.”

Erica went over to the sink and pulled open cupboards until she found a glass. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he said Porcello, our teammate, went off to Mexico and hasn’t kept in touch,” Max said.

“Por-cell-o,” Erica said slowly, sounding out the syllables. She turned on the sink and filled the glass with water. “Weird name. What is it, Spanish?”

Max laughed and stepped up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Italian, I think. I never asked.”

“You should ask him when you see him,” she said, sipping from her glass.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Erica turned, reaching up and pulling his hands away from her shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”

Max smiled, but she didn’t return it, and his stomach fluttered nervously. “Yeah?”

“I-- I’m sorry. I have to leave,” she said, pushing past him.

Max turned, staring after her, mind swimming. “Erica, what’s wrong?” He reached out and caught her hand in his.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and deflected her gaze just beyond him, to the glass of water she’d left on the kitchen counter. Erica twisted her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt. “I need to go,” she said. “Don’t ask me to stay.”

“Why? Why can’t you?” he asked.

She looked at him, and he really noticed for the first time how _sad_ her eyes were. “I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did.”

“That’s not really answering the question,” Max said.

Erica shook her head and laughed humorlessly. “No, it’s not,” she said. “I liked spending time with you, getting to know you, but. I can’t stay.”

Max pushed away from the counter and picked up the glass of water, dumping it in the sink. “I feel like I already know you,” he said, watching as the water circled down the drain. He turned back to her. “Do you believe in stuff like fate? Déjà vu? Because I feel like you found me for a reason.”

Erica’s face fell and she closed her eyes with a small sigh. “I _did_ find you for a reason,” she muttered.

He approached her cautiously and laid a hand over hers. “So, you felt it too.”

“Max, that’s not-- I came here because I was looking for _you_. I lied to you,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I know where you live because I know you,” she said. “I picked ‘Erica’ because I knew it was your ex-girlfriend’s name.”

Max stared at her, struck dumb. Actually, he felt like he’d just been hit in the nuts with a comebacker to the mound, or something equally painful. “How did you-- who _are_ you?” he asked, panic slowly starting to creep in at the edges.

Erica smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one, lips pulled back against her teeth in a grimace. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her blue jeans and scuffed her heel on the linoleum. “I know you, but you know me too.”

“Just tell me who you are and how you know so much about me,” he said, wondering fleetingly if she was dangerous, if he should-- God, it sounded ridiculous just to think it-- grab a knife from the butcher block to use in self-defense.

“Max, I spend pretty much most of my year right next to you,” she said, following his gaze to the butcher block. “I’m not a crazy stalker or anything. I promise.”

Max looked at her, really looked, trying to figure out where he might have seen her before, where he might have interacted with her before. “Then who _are_ you?”

“My name’s Frederick. Most people, including you, call me Rick,” she said.

Max’s brain came to a screeching halt. “What?”

“It’s me, Rick. The one who’s M.I.A.?” She pointed to herself. “Yeah, I never went to Mexico. I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re running, but-- ” Max began, but she cut him off.

“I’m not running any games, Max. I know this is hard to believe. Fuck, I don’t believe it myself, but it’s happening. It happened.” Erica rubbed her hands over her, no, his face and groaned. “It’s just, I woke up one day and-- ”

“You were somebody else,” Max finished.

He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, and maybe Rick would be standing there in front of him, arm around Ashton Kutcher’s shoulders, and he’d say, ‘You just got Punk’d!’ or something.

Nope. Erica was still standing there, and Rick was nowhere to be seen.

“I can prove it,” she said.

Max laughed, in spite of himself, and put his hands on his hips. “I dare you.”

Erica leaned back and rested her hands on the sleek marble countertop. “Perry teabagged you during Spring Training and we all have pictures of it in our phones for potential blackmail material,” she said.

He stared at her some more. “What? How do you know about that?”

“I _told_ you how.” Erica crossed her arms over her chest.

“Maybe Perry told you. Hell, I bet he’s the one behind this,” Max said, looking behind Erica, half-expecting Perry to jump out with a big shit-eating grin on his face.

“I was actually on my way to see him when I-- ”

“Marana,” Max cut her off suddenly. Perry was from Marana. His brain was drowning in this flood of information, and he slumped back against the counter, holding his head in his hands, as if he could hold it back somehow. He couldn’t fight it off anymore. “You were on your way to Marana.”

“Yeah,” she said, “by way of Chester, New Jersey.”

He looked at her again. It felt like puzzle pieces falling into place and being jumbled up all at once.

“You already had my phone number. When I tried to give it to you that first day, you said you had it already. I thought maybe you just took it from my phone when I let you use it but you didn’t, did you?”

“And our hero finally catches on,” she quipped wryly.

Max pressed his hands over his face. “This has to be a dream, right? One very long, involved dream?”

Erica snorted. “I wish.”

He dropped his hands and looked at her-- looked at Rick. The constellation of moles. The calluses on her right hand. Everything in the right place.

Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and focusing on the person in front of him. “Ricky, what happened?”

Rick laughed and rubbed his cheek against the shoulder of his t-shirt. “No fucking clue. It really did happen like I said. One day I woke up and I was somebody else.”

“Now what?” Max looked at him again.

“Who knows,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“What about Spring Training?” he asked, even though it felt silly, trivial to be talking about baseball when his teammate, when Rick’s life had been turned upside down.

Rick scratched idly at his pitching elbow. “I’ll probably be in breach of contract for not showing up, but maybe they’ll cut me some slack.”

“You don’t think you’ll-- you think you’re stuck like this?” Max asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow back to normal, with my dick where it’s supposed to be. Or maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow still in somebody else’s skin,” he said.

Max sighed heavily. He felt like, for some odd reason, the weight of the entire world was crashing down on him and it was patently ridiculous. He wasn’t the one who’d gone through whatever Rick had to go through. He hadn’t gone to sleep and woken up the next morning in a body that wasn’t his.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked.

Rick nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ll still end up in Arizona though. Maybe I’ll go to Mexico like I’d originally planned. Who knows,” he said, pushing away from the counter.

Max reached out and touched his shoulder. “Will we ever see you again?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, glancing down at Max’s hand. “I have a lot I have to figure out.”

Max squeezed Rick on the shoulder-- he was still having a hell of a time wrapping his head around the pronouns, actually, he was having a hell of a time wrapping his head around _all of it_ \-- before pulling him into a hug.

“You can come back. Even if-- whatever happens,” Max said, stumbling over the words.

“I meant what I said before,” Rick mumbled into Max’s shoulder, tightening his arms around him. “When I said I always liked you.”

Max tightened his arms around him. He wasn’t any good with words when they counted, apparently. He could beat anybody’s ass at Scrabble and throw multi-syllabic words into sentences like it was going out of style, but when it came to saying goodbye, maybe forever, to someone he considered a friend and whatever else, all he could do was hope that Rick understood.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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